


Rhapsody in Red

by MissMorwen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Shameless Smut, Spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMorwen/pseuds/MissMorwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to come out of cryo sleep at some point.<br/>She’d wanted him to, of course she had, but she almost changed her mind when he finally did. It was easier missing someone who wasn’t there. It hurt too much to miss someone who was.</p>
<p>***********</p>
<p>Natasha and Bucky goes on a mission post-cacw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm213/gifts).



> This started as an answer to a drabble prompt. It grew... The original prompt: Maybe something where they’re on a mission at a swanky party and James keeps getting distracted by how gorgeous Nat looks?
> 
> Thank you to [mbuzz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mbuzz) for betaing <3

He had to come out of cryo sleep at some point.

She’d wanted him to, of course she had, but she almost changed her mind when he finally did. It was easier missing someone who wasn’t there. It hurt too much to miss someone who was.

 

* * *

 

With the schematics of the location staring down at her, the decision was easier reached than Natasha had expected. “I’ll need back-up. This is no longer a one person op.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Steve asked, with what he probably considered a neutral expression.

The list of available candidates was considerably shorter than back when they both worked for SHIELD, but even if it wasn’t, the answer would still have been the same. “Barnes.”

Steve tried to hide his smile, but his eyes shone with it like a kid’s on the 4th of July. Had he hoped for this going into the meeting or was it just a welcome surprise? Natasha pushed the question away and focused on the problem in front of her. The mission parameters had changed and needed to be updated before they included anyone else.

 

* * *

 

“ _That_ is what you’re wearing?” Barnes’ voice had an edge to it she hadn’t heard in months.

No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t heard it decades. The reformed Winter Soldier tended to be quiet and reserved, controlled in his responses. If someone aggravated him to the point of irritation, he usually responded by giving them a withering look and straight up leaving. At least when she was around. This was…new.

Natasha glanced at him in the mirror, but remained standing with her back turned to him, focused on affixing the blonde wig.

“The top is bullet proof, it’ll stop anything up to a .44 hollow point, and the skirt is a tear away. Even if it wasn’t, the slit allows for more movement than you think.” Part of her, the part that remembered what he apparently did not, wanted to tease him. To pirouette and let the skirt billow out and display just how freely she could move in it. How good her legs looked with all that silk flowing around them. And how much he was missing out on by keeping his distance. She brought it to heel, like she had many times before.

“That’s great an’ all,” he said, dismissing her like she was a rookie bragging after her first mission. “But it’s also very fucking red. Everybody will be looking at you. How are you supposed to work?”

Well. She _had_ wished he’d stop being so damn distant and indifferent all the time. That was definitely not indifferent. She almost smiled. Picking up the last pieces of weaponry – twin bracelets concealing her Widow’s Bite and a garrote disguised as a long string of pearls – she turned to address his concerns.

Barnes stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. But it wasn’t the sour expression on his face that made her pause. It was the way he wore a suit like he hadn’t spent the last several months in ill-fitted jeans and a loose hoodie. Combined with a freshly shaved face and the result was more than a little pleasing to look at. Someone really cleaned up nicely. The mix of dapper, pre-war Bucky Barnes and the sharpness of the Winter Soldier was a very good look on him.

“They won’t be looking at me, they’ll be looking at my body, leaving me free to talk with whomever I want to as long as I look pretty doing it and you to do what you do without them noticing.” She held his gaze as she snapped on the bracelets and wound the necklace two times around her neck.

He didn’t respond, staring at her for several long moments before he turned around and walked away.

He had never been an easy man to get a read on when he didn’t want it. Even less so after his stay in Wakanda. She got why he kept his guard up. Even Steve had understood it, after a while, after a lot of rounds with the boxing bag. Barnes blamed himself for everything he’d done in the years of being the Asset, he expected everyone else to do so too. Having been the target of an international manhunt and Tony doing his very best to kill him only confirmed that opinion. It was easy for him to believe that everyone hated him when he hated himself so much. (She knew that feeling, she’d been there, too.) But understanding it didn’t do anything to lessen the ache when he did it to her.

Natasha spent the last minutes before their limo arrived adjusting and fitting her Photostatic Veil. When she was done, she turned to see that Barnes had also put his on as well as black gloves to hide his mismatched hands. Small mercies. The veil meant she didn’t have to see his cleanly shaven face and be reminded of the young man who used to love her.

Shaking her head to dislodge the pointless regret, she followed him out of the hotel and into the waiting limo.

 

* * *

 

Sky beams marked the location of the auction a long way off. They cut the night sky into slices and announced to the world that this was where all the important people were this evening. They also very neatly made it impossible for any aircraft, stealthy or otherwise, to approach without notice. Natasha wasn’t naïve enough to think that didn’t play a part in why they were there.

Slipping into the undercover persona of Tanya Roman, she waited patiently while Barnes went round the limo and opened the door for her. He offered his hand when she slid over to get out. She took it, all too aware that this was the first time they’d touched since he’d had his other hand wrapped around her throat (the one Tony shot off in an act that almost made her come out of hiding when she heard about it). His grip was firm, his hand warm, and she was glad she already had her features under control.

The luxuriously decorated hall where the auction was held was already filled with people. People of different ages and races, with one thing in common: Too much money and a liking for the rarer and more illegal pleasures in life. Well, there was one item that wouldn’t be available to any of them.

Most of the items up for auction tonight were weapons of some form or another, the rest mostly trophies. The item they were there for, Item Eleven, was something that could turn people into a little bit of both. It had been developed to help people achieve lucid dreams and it did work perfectly for just that. The problem was that while people used it, dreaming their lucid dreams, they could be influenced. The effect was short term, it wore off after a few hours and was forgotten not long after that, much like the dream that inspired it. So you couldn’t use Item Eleven to make a new Winter Soldier, but you could use it to make a suicide bomber or short term sex slave. It wasn’t acceptable. If the two of them couldn’t win it in the auction, they would follow the winner and take it with force.

Their informant had named three interested buyers, but the list of attendants was longer and both she and Barnes had singled out several that they knew from dealing with them could also have an interest in the item. Surveying the crowd, Natasha spotted one of the three.

“Darling, go get us some drinks,” she said and extracted her arm from his all too comfortable touch. “There is someone I need to talk to.”

He didn’t reply and he didn’t have to. The informant, Lau, would contact him by the bar as she worked the room.

The five inch Loubouitins clacked against the hardwood floor and she swayed her hips as she walked, letting the skirt brush against her legs. She knew how to catch someone’s attention, how to wrap them around her finger without saying a word. It seldom felt as good as this.

The potential buyer already had a pretty companion, but he was a man of wealth, not used to limiting himself in anyway.

“Vladislav, darling,” she said and kissed the air on either side of his face. “So good to see you again.” As she stepped back, she caught the reflection of Barnes in a mirror still standing by the entrance, but when she turned her head to see what was keeping him, he was already moving towards the bar.

Vladislav was speaking to her and she had to mentally rewind to catch his question. When she did, she slapped his arm in mock offence. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. At Robertson’s party in the Hamptons. Four years ago?”

“You must excuse me, my dear. My memory isn’t what it used to be.” He tapped the side of his graying head.

She might even have felt bad for tricking him if not for the business he was in.

They talked about nothing, like people who didn’t really know each other did at parties. She was good at it. After a while he even remembered meeting her at a party she had never attended, held by people she had only seen pictures of. It relaxed him enough to allow her to brush against him and lift the phone from his inside pocket. When Barnes joined them a few seconds later, she slipped him the phone and kept Vladislav and his companion distracted while Barnes installed spyware on it.

Natasha preferred to work alone and she usually did on missions not that dissimilar from this one, but it was nice how much easier a job like this was with a partner.

After Vladislav she talked with Toselli who actually did know Natasha’s cover and was delighted to meet her brother. Maybe a little bit too delighted. Natasha ended up installing the spyware herself while Barnes flirted back at the older woman. It was, she had to admit even though she should probably never do so to his face, a marvel to watch.

They were about to move on the third interested buyer when a sharp voice demanded her attention. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Natasha turned to see Angela Harper, the leader of a smuggling ring big enough to span several continents approaching. People who only saw her from afar probably would call her beautiful, and, barring the ice behind her gaze, she was. Most sharks had more life in their eyes, and more warmth in their smile.

“I could ask the same of you,” Natasha replied levelly, like she hadn’t thought, for a brief second, that they’d been made, that they’d have to fight their way out of the crowd.

The two women hugged, all fake smiles and sharp eyes.

The presence of the other woman set off alarm bells in Natasha. She wasn’t on the guest list their informant had provided, and Harper smirked like she’d just told a particularly funny joke that only she herself understood. Like she’d wanted Natasha to be scared. It could be nothing, more last minute changes, Harper’s bad sense of humor. In any case, Natasha wasn’t taking any chances and placed a bug in the folds of her expensive dress when they hugged just to be sure.

They exchange pleasantries. This venue wasn’t for doing business other than the auction, but Harper apparently wanted to see if ‘brother David’ was someone she wanted to do business with in the future. That or she was trying to get a read on him. She was out of luck in both endeavors.

Since Steve had located his safe house, Barnes had watched the world with tense shoulders and a furrowed brow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he stepped out of the limo he’d shaken that, moving like a man at ease among this many people, this much wealth, and this much security. There was a reason why Natasha had wanted him along on the mission and it wasn’t the useless, ridiculous hope that working together would spark remembrance – it was because he was _good_.

 

* * *

 

Natasha slipped an earpiece in the second Harper turned her attention to some other guest. Having to listen in on other people’s small talk was a bother, but she had to make sure they hadn’t been made. In this sea of rich criminals, their bodyguards, and security personnel, everyone had to stay on their toes, even if they weren’t an intruder. Especially when they were.

Barnes glanced at her and she nodded. No word needed to be exchanged, they had both played these games for far too long to ignore a hunch, and they had planned for a situation like this. He went after their informant while she went into one of the opulently decorated powder rooms, the one farthest away from the other guests. The schematics had shown the layout, but not the design of the room, nor the overpowering use of red and gold. No restroom needed this many chairs, nor did any one chair need this many tassels. This wasn’t telegraphing wealth, it was shouting about it in a megaphone, at close range. Low Muzak filtered in from hidden speakers, and even the air was laden with perfume, leaving no sense unmolested. Natasha scanned every inch of the room for bugs, dragging one of the chairs with her for the out-of-reach spots.

Before she was done, Barnes rapped on the door in a quick pattern, signaling he was there. She opened the door and he pushed the informant inside, following close behind, and locked the door after them. The Photostatic Veil gave Barnes a decidedly average white face: eyes on the hooded side of almond shaped; nose straight with a rounded tip; lips neither full nor narrow. Forgettable in all the ways his expression was not. The informant recoiled like the prey in front of the hunter.

The scan finally complete, she turned to Barnes. “Clear.”

“You mind sharing with the class why the guest list you provided was incomplete?” None of the anger in Barnes’ face or fisted hands was audible in his voice. Dry ice would be warm compared to his voice.

“I-I don’t—I—“

“Angela Harper. Why wasn’t she on the guest list?” Barnes interrupted the informant’s stammering.

“She wasn’t in any of the invitations I saw.”

“If you’ve sold us out, you won’t live to enjoy what they’ve paid you.”

Natasha decided to scan the area for radio signals, to listen in on the security personnel while Barnes interrogated the informant. She couldn’t find anything when she turned it on at first, and she kept extending the range until the range covered the entire property and not even signals from mobile phones was detectable. Communication shutdown. They definitely had been made. Natasha turned so quickly the carpeted floor gave beneath her. Soft red carpets one moment, a giant red marshmallow the other.

Her tongue didn’t work, so when she tried to warn the other two all there came out was: “Blarg,” and she almost laughed because it sounded so funny and she really shouldn’t be using his real name while on a mission and it was lucky she didn’t and the informant was rubbing his temples and Barnes was frowning at her and

and

and

The carpet swallowed her up, even softer than it looked and blissfully dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of talking without anyone saying what they actually mean and bunch of goons who should really have chosen a different career.

“Don’t do this to me, darling. I can’t get us out of here if you don’t wake up. I need you by my side. I need you.” The voice sounded broken and desperate. Not like her Soldier at all.

She opened her eyes to a world of lights and shadows. The lights too bright. His face a shadow above her. She didn’t need to see him clearly to recognize him. If his voice hadn’t revealed him already, then his hand on her shoulder would have, the low whir of his arm, or his soft brown hair tumbling forward as he leaned over her. She reached up to brush the hair back and felt him stiffen under her touch.

Wait, something was wrong.

He wasn’t—

She wasn’t—

Reality returned to Natasha and with it, memories. She snatched her hand away and the movement almost made her throw up. Someone vicious and determined was boring holes in her skull. Had already finished a few of them judging by how porous the back of her head felt, but she pushed it away, focused on getting her bearings. Red ceiling above her with a chandelier and tiny star-like light spots. Thick carpet underneath her. So they were still in the restroom. If she had to pass out in a restroom, she was glad it was one this well maintained. Well, one that wasn’t surrounded by enemies would have been better, but she had woken up in worse places and no one was actively trying to kill her at the moment.

And she was apparently still affected by whatever had knocked her out because she almost laughed at the thought and that would have been a bad move with the nausea.

Barnes crouched beside her. The look on his face was- was- conflicted? Was that the word? Not happy at any rate.

Christ, she needed to get her brain working again.

“Water,” she croaked.

He jumped to it. Probably happy to have something to do rather than stare at her lethargic ass.

She almost managed to sit up while he fetched the water. Would have, if the room could stop spinning.

His metal hand was cool against the nape of her neck, his flesh and blood hand steady as he held the glass to her lips.

“I’m going to throw up,” she said matter-of-factly when he took the empty glass away.

Barnes didn’t move and thereby forced her to.

She had done a lot of things in front of him and throwing up was the least of it, but she wasn’t going to add throwing up _on_ him to that list. She did almost add planting her face in it, though, because her arms were reluctant to support her weight. She got it under control before he had to rescue her from that, too.

The water diluted the sweet cocktail she’d been drinking earlier, but it didn’t make it taste any less disgusting coming up. At least she wasn’t still wearing her Photostatic Veil. Cleaning it afterwards would have been _wonderful_.

Throwing up helped. Natasha even managed to sit up by herself as he got her a second glass of water. After she finished it, she surveyed the room. The informant was dead. His face smashed beyond recognition and his white dress shirt had three neat holes in it. At least the people who’d done it to him had been dealt with. All four had been bound and gagged, but two of them looked like they might not wake up again – and might not want to, either.

Killing all four of them would have been easier and posed less of a risk, but he hadn’t. Steve probably wouldn’t be proud, but he should be.

“Do I want to know what happened?” she asked, almost sounding like herself again.

“I woke up as they were working over Lau. I stopped them.” He shrugged like she should already have figured that out. She had, but she wanted to hear his version of it. He didn’t divulge further and she left it at that, filing everything away for later speculation.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’d've been in a lot of trouble if you hadn’t been here.”

“I’m sure you’d have been fine, Widow,” Barnes waved her off and walked over to the door, his head cocked to listen to what happened outside.

“Of course I would. But it’s nice not having to do it all by myself.” She delivered the line without the slightest hint of humor in her voice.

When he looked over at her incredulously she winked at him and he rolled his eyes, but she saw the glint in them before he turned away. She’d wear him down eventually and get to see that beautiful smile of his again.

“You know what happened to our Veils?” she asked and got up to remove the blonde wig. It didn’t make much sense to keep wearing it without the Photostatic Veils. Especially not since throwing up had made it feel like a wet rag affixed to her head.

“None of the goons had them on them. I suspect Harper took them with her.”

Natasha nodded, realized that he couldn’t see her with his back turned, and added, “Sounds likely.”

She turned her attention to the earpiece that their captors luckily hadn’t discovered. Since all she could hear over it was high heels on tiled floor, she decided to go over the recording to see what she’d missed. Almost twenty minutes had passed since she lost consciousness and for most of that time the bug had only picked up the faint sounds of Harper pacing. The recording of Harper entering the restroom went pretty much as Natasha had expected, what came after was what she’d feared.

“You need to get here faster.” Came Harper’s voice over the earpiece. “The staff isn’t equipped to deal with her when she wakes up. And she brought a friend.”

Whomever she was talking with wasn’t audible save for a murmur, and Natasha guessed it was a phone call.

“I don’t know. She must have figured something out.”

Natasha made a mental note to thank Harper for coming over and gloating. If she hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have realized the set-up until additional forces arrived.

There was another inaudible murmur.

“How should I know? He didn’t give his real name and I didn’t recognize him. Not one of her super friends, but big enough to cause problems.” There was a second pause before she continued. “Fine. Just get here.”

“So the good news is that only I have been made,” Natasha said when she was sure Harper had finished talking. “The bad news is that an unspecified number of people are coming. We need to go. And fast.”

Barnes hesitated before he replied, then said, “We need transport. A limo isn’t worth much as an escape vehicle.”

“How many guards outside?”

“Two. If there are more, they’re real quiet.”

“Let’s grab them and ask,” she said with a smile. Wide and vicious enough to make his lips twitch in return.

He opened the door slowly and carefully. The two guards outside didn’t notice anything until he had them by the neck and pulled them inside. While she closed and locked the door, he switched his grip on them and lifted each man by their neck. Pinning them against the wall a good foot over the floor.

The speed and strength he displayed shouldn't make her grin, but it did.

“First one to speak gets to live. Second one gets a bullet. Who can get us outside and near transportation?” Barnes said it without any anger and the two dangling men paled in response.

“We don’t have access to the garage. None of us do,” said the fastest one.

“Harper has. She’s not part of the staff,” said the second one, hoping to prove more useful.

“You win,” Barnes said to the second and the first one paled further.

He didn’t get to plead for his life, Barnes smacked the man’s head into the wall and let his unconscious body drop to the floor, leaving it up to Natasha to tie him up.

“Contact her. Tell her…” He switched his attention to Natasha.

“Tell her Ms Lark would like to know why there are so many people in one of the powder rooms.”

The guard called Harper to tell her that and got yelled at in return. Harper came running anyway.

 

* * *

 

While they waited for her to arrive, Barnes moved the guards, hiding the gags and restraints, making them appear dead instead of unconscious, while Natasha got the remaining guard to stand in front of the partly open door. When Barnes was done he took up position behind the open door, pointing a Sig Saur at the guard, and she used to opportunity to remove the five inch heels, wiggling her toes when they touched the thick carpet.

“You know, I’m kinda disappointed that no one has invented comfortable heels with cleverly concealed stiletto knives,” she said when she put them on the counter with a sigh.

“And break your ankle when you use it. Yeah, that seems like a great idea.”

“You’re just jealous,” she said, and took her position on the other side of the door opening, pressing herself up against the wall. “Nothing will make your ass look as great as mine does when I’m wearing high heels.”

The door standing ajar kept her from seeing the look on his face, but the seconds ticked by without an answer so she must have either annoyed or amused him to some degree.

She never got her answer, because heels clacking against hardwood floor alerted them of Harper’s approach.

“Ms Lark, I told you—“ Harper took in the decidedly Lark-empty room and stopped abruptly.

“Hi,” Natasha said and smiled when Harper turned to face her.

“Wha—“ Harper began but didn’t get to finish before Natasha had pulled her inside and pushed her to the floor, keeping her there with a foot on the other woman’s throat.

“We need to get out of here. And we need something fast to do so.”

“And don’t think about stalling,” Barnes added, lifting the now unconscious guard in one hand without looking the least bit strained.

The guard was bleeding from a cut on his head, and if you didn’t look at his chest, he appeared to be dead. His limp form was dumped on top of the other guards.

Harper’s throat work under Natasha’s bare foot. She was ruthless as Natasha in her dealings but she wasn’t willing to risk her own life. “Fine, I’ll take you to the garage. You’ll have to deal with the security on your own when you leave.”

Natasha took off her string of pearls as Harper got to her feet again. Harper flinched when Natasha put it over her head and pulled the rest behind her back like a leash. Tugging on it, Natasha said. “Do anything stupid and pay for it. Understand?”

Harper nodded with barely hidden rancor in her eyes.

“Good, now put your arm around me. I’m your drunk friend and you’re helping me go somewhere quiet.” With her slightly smeared makeup and bare feet, Natasha looked the part. If she hadn’t been so thorough washing her mouth of the sick, the smell would have added to the illusion, but there were limits.

 

* * *

 

They almost made it to the garage without bumping into anyone. They could actually see the entrance to the garage when a group of seven guards rounded a corner.

Somehow Harper managed not to tense up at the prospect of a rescue.

The first guard actually saluted her. “Miss Harper. We were told you needed extra men.”

“I do. The problem has been contained in the kitchen, but they could use some extra help,” Harper lied as smoothly as Natasha could. As a criminal and a leader it was probably a requirement, but it was nice to see it work to their advantage.

The group passed them, but the last of the seven stared at Barnes with a frown, then open-mouthed recognition. “Wait, aren’t you—“

He never got to ask the question. Barnes shifted and kicked him in the chest. Hard. Cracks muted by the surrounding flesh and the padded uniform, but still loud enough to be heard. The guard’s mouth still a surprised 'o' as he crashed into the guards near him.

And there it was. The brutal efficiency that she had always admired. That had played a part in her wanting to work with him again. If time hadn’t been an issue, she would have stopped to watch the spectacle.

Harper was already within reach and Natasha only had to raise her arms to hit her full force with the twin Widow’s Bite. The necklace handily secured Harper’s hands and feet, and would keep her from running away if she should regain her consciousness before they were done.

A second guard had joined the one with the caved in chest on the floor when she turned her attention back to the fight. She didn’t waste any time on them, because two of the others had their guns out and were shooting at Barnes. None of the shots hit their mark. Barnes held the corpse of their colleague between them, his body turned to the side, left side facing them. They almost hit her, though, and she had to roll to avoid a stray bullet as she advanced.

The seventh guard, younger, more easily scared, probably with a stronger survival instinct than the rest, crouched behind a large commode a bit farther down the hallway. It was a miracle he hadn’t thought to radio for help. He glanced down the empty corridor behind him and Natasha slipped a knife from the sheath on her thigh.

The young guard flinched when Barnes threw the improvised shield at the other two, nailed to the spot while Barnes shot his colleagues. Then the young guard turned and ran. He only got a few steps before Natasha’s knife buried into his back and pierced his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.

While Barnes dragged the bodies into an empty room, Natasha checked on Harper, picking up a Glock 26 with a mostly full magazine on her way. But when he didn’t follow, even after she’d pulled the still weakened Harper’s arm over her shoulder and supported the woman with an arm around the waist, she looked back.

He must have felt her eyes on him. Without prompting he said, “We need to go back for Item Eleven.”

“We need to leave. It might not even be real. It could just have been bait.”

“The auction items? It’s here. They’re all here. Getting you and Mister Invincible there was just an unexpected bonus.” Harper sounded self-satisfied. She didn’t have to stall, they were doing it for her.

Working his jaw, Barnes said, “I can’t let anyone have it. Can’t let them—“ His gaze could cut steel. Possibly even vibranium.

Natasha wanted to argue, had all the clever words ready, but he’d earned his dislike of brainwashing many times over. This wasn’t even the most foolish thing she’d ever done. She had fought an alien army with only a handful of enhanced people on her side. However many people were coming, it wouldn’t be an entire army.

She didn’t kid herself into believing that was her only excuse. If she couldn’t have him, she could at least help him, fight by his side. Even if he never remembered her again, she would fight tooth and nail to let him have peace. It was stupid and reckless and she would no doubt pay for it later, but it wasn’t a choice – it was following up on a decision she’d made a long time ago.

She turned to Harper and said, “Take us to it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is improper use of some very fine whiskey, a garage filled with expensive cars, and people yelling.

The storage room wasn’t far from the garage, but it was close enough to the auction hall for them to run into other guests. Luckily the guest bought Natasha’s ‘I’m so drunk I can barely walk’ act and met them only with pitying looks. The guard outside the storage room was harder to convince to let them enter.

“Do you know who I am?” Harper demanded.

“I do, ma’am, but I still can’t let you inside,” said the guard, proving herself to be less easily swayed than most people in that situation.

They didn’t have time for this.

Natasha pretended to stumble and hit the guard with her twin Widow’s Bites before she could react. While she dragged the unconscious body to a nearby room, Barnes entered the storage room, Harper in tow.

The room she found would have been the pride and joy of any old-fashioned gentlemen's club, decorated with as much taste as the restrooms except with dark wood and animal heads. It had three tall windows, framed by heavy curtain and, yes, more than enough curtain tie backs to secure the guard.

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” she mumbled and used one to gag the security guard.

There was even a big desk to hide the tied up guard. Maybe their luck had changed again?

Barnes had already found Item Eleven when she joined him and turned it into a pile of metal scraps and broken glass. He was bleeding from his right hand, but didn’t seem to notice.

“I say we torch this place,” he said, his voice calm. As relaxed as the rest of him looked.

“Explosives would sure come in handy right about now. You don’t carry any, do you?”

“And ruin the lines of this suit? Guns and knives only, unfortunately,” he said and smiled at her, wide, easy, with lines forming all around his eyes.

It was like looking at the sun.

“I think I saw some whiskey next door,” she said when her heart started beating again.

Barnes gathered kindling while Natasha went back after accelerant.

 

* * *

 

Turned out, 110 proof whiskey, antique books, and thick velvet curtains burned just as easily as cheaper materials did.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to have you both killed,” Harper said.

“Whatever you say, ma’am.” Barnes closed the door to the steadily spreading inferno. He wrenched off the door handle, too, just for good measure. “But right now we’re going for a run.”

And run they did. Natasha running soundlessly in front on bare feet, followed by Harper who made more noise on her stockinged feet than Barnes who took up the rear. Each time they rounded a corner, Natasha expected to see a security detail or possibly the promised back-up, but it never happened. They reached the garage without running into anyone.

A swipe of a keycard and a string of numbers punched into the keypad later and they were inside.

Barnes let out a low whistle when he followed her inside. “I am clearly in the wrong line of business.”

Row upon row of expensive cars filled the garage. Actually, hangar was probably a better term for it. Three cars down, Natasha even spotted a younger sibling of one she’d been driving a few years ago. The Corvette Stingray was black like hers had been and she knew it well enough to dodge most pursuers. She grinned and jogged over to the large cabinet with all the keys in it.

And that was when it all went sideways.

The escape so close she could smell it, she stepped out from the relative cover of the cars into the open area around the cabinet. There were half a dozen motorcycles on display there, but she might as well have been standing in an open field when a door near the exit burst open. A spray of bullets followed.

She dove for cover. Pulling the Glock from her top while she twisted in the air. It had been a while since she’d had to do acrobatics in billowing skirts and constraining tops. Her reflexes were fast as ever, but the landing was far from comfortable with bare shoulders and arms. She was pretty sure she scraped her left shoulder.

“Romanoff,” Barnes yelled between gunshots, he sounded about as winded as she felt. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she yelled back. “But we need to get a move on.”

There were cars approaching, three or four by the sound of it. Whoever was shooting at them was either the forerunner or a particularly attentive part of the house security detail.

“You don’t say.”

She wondered absently if sounding like an old married couple was a positive or negative development in their relationship. Then the sound of boots on concrete interrupted her and instinct took over. She got the first dark-clad attacker twice center mass; Barnes got the one following the first in the head.

Well, he was the sniper of the two.

The cabinet with the car keys was less than twenty yards away, but it was made of glass and surrounded by nothing but air. The car she was hiding behind was a hot red convertible, and hot red convertibles made for terrible escape vehicles, but it was also a 1967 Impala and she could hotwire one of those in seconds.

“Get over here.” She opened the door to the Impala and slid inside, keeping low. There weren’t anyone shooting at them right now, but there was also no reason for her to get shot while working on the car by someone she hadn’t spotted. The engine roared to life and Barnes slipped into the passenger seat. There was probably a controller to raise the massive garage doors, but they had no time to search for it. Natasha floored the accelerator and aimed for the seam between two doors. The car went through them easily enough, but it met the slope on the other side with a sickening crash. Then metal scraped against concrete. That was just perfect. The front axle had broken.

If the previous gunfight hadn’t been enough for them to get noticed, then the crash of the car going through the door certainly was. Two guards, in uniforms she had seen too many times that evening to not recognize, came running towards them. This time Natasha took them out before Barnes did.

The front-runners of the awaited backup had gotten there by motorcycles, which they  were kind enough to have left near where their bodies now laid. Barnes clearly had the same thought that she did, and he was already moving towards the bikes. She loved this. She loved the way they worked together often without even needing to communicating what they were doing next, because the other one was already thinking the same. She loved that his snark was back and as cutting as ever.

He, however, was less enthused with the situation. “Get on the bike, Romanoff. I’ll take care of the others.”

She did. Tugging the skirt around her and under her to keep it from blowing all over when they started. He sat behind her, his long legs framing hers. He didn’t wrap his arm around her, though, leaning back and most likely gripping the back of the seat for support. It was probably for the best. Having him flush against her back, feeling his chest rise and fall behind her, his breath on her skin wouldn’t distract her while driving, but it would make sleeping difficult the next long while. Better he kept his distance. As much as was possible.

The engine roared between her legs, the headlights clicked off with the flick of a switch, and she drove head-on towards the approaching vehicles before anyone inside them had a chance to react.

Barnes took out the front tires of the first car as they sped toward it, one of the back ones too as they passed it. The occupants of the second car were quicker to react, though; two of the passengers took shots at them as they rode past. It forced Natasha to swerve to avoid the bullets, made it impossible for Barnes to shoot out the tires.

The third and last car tried to block their escape. They failed. The narrow strip of grass between the driveway and the trench next to it was wide enough for her to zip past, but the smile on Natasha’s face froze as the rear wheel skidded when the bike met asphalt again, Barnes’ much heavier weight throwing her off balance. Then he twisted in the seat to shoot back at their pursuers.

So much for synchronicity.

The bike was heavy, build for someone larger and heavier than her, and with Barnes’ additional weight behind her, it took a lot of effort to right the unwieldy machine. No one was shooting at them when she managed to get it upright, though, so at least his stunt had bought them some time.

They were almost at the end of the long driveway; tall hedges marked the end of the property. Going right would take them into the nearby city with lots of places to hide while they planned their escape. Left had nothing but long stretches of empty road for thirty miles, at least double that to the nearest city. No cover, no byways to lose pursuers. Right seemed like the obvious choice, but part of her was certain she heard four cars, not three.

She turned left.

A car engine roared to life behind them, headlights flooding the road and them on it. Driving with the lights off might hide them on a dark street, but not when they had a car following close behind. This time she felt Barnes shift before he twisted in the seat. A bullet pinged off something hard, it was quickly followed by a second with the same result. The windshield no doubt, bulletproof by the sound of it. He had more luck with the headlights. Two shots and they were surrounded by the darkness of a moonless night, the second closest car a couple of hundred yards behind.

Time to disappear into the darkness. Natasha twisted the throttle and the motorcycle picked up speed. They needed to lose the tail before they got to the city, needed time to find somewhere to hide when they got there or a car to keep the rest of their escape less conspicuous. The engine of the reinforced car had to work hard to keep up as the bike neared 180 mph. It was a ridiculous speed to be going at wearing nothing more than a bulletproof bathing suit. Even with the silk of the skirt wrapped around her legs they felt as bare as her arms. Oh, did she miss her tact suit. The wind whipped around her, like it was trying to remove her skin, to grind her down to the bones. Then finally lights in the horizon, a promise of cover.

She turned at the first intersection inside the city and nearly slipped off the bike as the slick fabric shifted beneath her.

A few turns later she decided that maybe they should exchange the bike for a car. Not just because a red dress was really noticeable on a motorcycle under the streetlights, but also because she was sliding with every turn and the cold had numbed her to the point where it was impossible to feel if she actually was gripping the bike with her legs like she should. Their lead would get smaller, but it seemed worth the risk.

Natasha rolled to a stop, got off the bike, and watched in horror as Barnes nearly fell as he dismounted.

“Barnes?” she said incredulously.

“I’m fine.” He waved her off.

He didn’t look fine, he looked pale and irritated.

Out of the wind, feeling returned to her body and she noticed her skirt sticking to her. It was already red so it just looked wet, but her hand came away just as red when she touched it. She swore under her breath and followed Barnes who was dragging the bike out of sight. His black suit was shiny from the lower back down both legs.

It was pretty basic knowledge that when chased, pauses weren’t allowed until pursuer was so far behind they had no chance of catching up. It was also pretty basic knowledge that letting half the team bleed out so the rest could get away faster was a no-go, too.

“We need to keep going,” he said when she stopped him.

“Shut up and let me see your back.”

“Romanoff.”

The defeat in his voice horrified Natasha and she snapped at him. “We can spare a few seconds to keep you from bleeding to death!”

That shut him up, sinking into silent and probably sullen submission. It was hard to tell with his already furrowed brow.

The bullet had gone in a few inches below the Kevlar vest he wore under his shirt. His suit jacket was all crumpled up where he’d held it against the wound. And she thought she’d had an uncomfortable ride. Leaned back, with one hand gripping the back of the seat and the other trying to stem the flow of blood. Going 180 down a dark road. And he hadn’t been able to do that until she’d lost their pursuers and he could stop shooting. Yeah, that must have been a hell of a lot of fun.

The skirt came off as easily as she’d told him what felt like days ago. It was no less slippery when used as a bandage and finally she tied it in a couple of knots and used the bulk of them to press against the wound. Barnes groaned when she secured the impromptu bandage around him.

“Stop complaining. If you’d said something earlier we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

She was so angry. Angry at herself or not noticing that he was hurt. Angry at him for not telling her. Natasha fed the anger, nurtured it. Because if she stopped being angry she might start to worry about how much blood he’d lost, if his hipbone had stopped the bullet. Even with Super Soldier Serum in his veins, ruptured intestines were not an easy injury to survive and they were still a long way from help.

“Stay here and don’t move. I’ll go get us a new ride,” she said when she was satisfied with the make-shift bandage.

“Wait.”

She turned to see him following her, shrugging out of his suit jacket.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to move?” She didn’t snarl at him, but it was a close thing.

“Take the goddamn jacket, Romanoff. You’re practically naked.”

She was, but anger kept her warm.

She took the jacket anyway. It smelled of him and of blood and it only helped fuel her anger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are changed and wounds are licked (not like that, perv).

The nearest cars were of a modern make, impossible to jack without gear and bringing carjacking gear to a swanky auction hadn’t really seemed necessary during planning. A couple of houses down there was an old three-door hatchback Ford Escort in an unidentifiable dark color. It was smaller and slower than what Natasha had hoped for, but it was also neutral and would allow them to move around without notice. Not that they would have to travel far. She’d toyed with the idea of doubling back, picking up the things left behind in the hotel room, maybe even a change of clothes. Depending on just when she’d been made, the room might be under surveillance by now, but if Barnes had been uninjured that wouldn’t have been much of a problem. Calling for an extraction team felt like giving up, admitting that her fuck-up had cost them the mission, yet his fingers had been cold when he handed her the jacket. _Cold_. Even in the snow he was usually at worst lukewarm. No, there was only one option left: Find somewhere to hide and call for an extraction team.

Barnes had of course hidden the motorcycle when she got back, because blood loss wouldn’t kill him, but obeying her orders would. He’d no doubt wiped it down, too, before he stashed it. It was a bit of a miracle he survived getting into the backseat and lying down under a blanket. Probably only made possible because he swore under his breath while doing so, she thought.

Natasha stopped at the first twenty-four hour general store she spotted, said, “Wait here,” to Barnes, pinched her cheeks, and smeared her lipstick before she got out of the car. The ‘I just had sex’ look should distract the guy at the till and keep him from noticing the blood and the bullet hole on the back of the jacket, but just to be sure, Natasha pretended to drop her purse the second she turned her back to him. His head was almost as bright red as her tiny red, and briefly very visible, boyshorts when she straightened. He barely even looked at her items as he scanned them.

With food, water, and a travel sized first aid kit bagged, she slung the bags over her shoulders to camouflage the blood and left.

A few minutes of driving later she finally found a suitable hiding place. The abandoned house had seen better days and a few of the windows were smashed in, but the second floor windows allowed for a clear view of the street and it had imposing hedges to hide the car behind.

“We’re here,” she announced and pretended not to notice how he swayed when he got out of the car. Giving how snippy he’d been with her more than once, he probably wouldn’t appreciate her fussing over him. He was still walking around and he had a gun out, so presumably he was clear-headed enough to use it.

She was down to one knife, her Widow’s Bite and the stolen Glock with only five bullets left in it. Her other knife had been abandoned in the young guard’s back and her necklace—oh, that reminded her.

“What happened to Harper?” She set the bags with supplies down to pick open the back door.

“She won’t be a problem,” he replied.

She nodded and continued working on the lock. At least that had been a good decision, if another one Steve wouldn’t agree on. Harper would no doubt have taken out a contract on her. It wouldn’t be a contract easy to fill, but it would have made Natasha’s life more difficult. She might even have tried to find out Barnes’ true identity and that would lead to a whole new set of problems.

“She threatened y—our lives. I didn’t have a choice.” He kept his voice low to avoid detection, but it sounded terse now.

She’d nodded in agreement. What more did he want? A thank you? “Relax, Barnes. I’m not Steve. I think it was the right the decision.”

The lock clicked open and she gathered up the supplies again, slapping away his hand when he tried to take one of the bags. She did let him enter first, though, since he was the one with the gun. The house cleared, they decided on a room on the second floor facing the garden. It must have been a child’s bedroom back when the house had been occupied, cheerful wallpaper filled the walls, discarded toys on the floor, and a child-sized mattress leaned against one wall.

She placed the bags and bottle of water on the floor and dug out her phone. Barnes was going through them before Steve picked up.

“We need an extraction,” Natasha said as an answer to his greeting.

“What happened?” Calm and professional, but, yeah, there was that hint of worry she’d expected. She wouldn’t be calling now if something hadn’t gone wrong.

“A lot of things, but the Inception device has been destroyed. The extraction team should bring blood. Barnes has misplaced a fair bit of his.”

The man in question shifted his attention from the first aid kit to glare at her. She returned his glare and turned away to stare out at the garden.

Steve swallowed audibly. “Is he okay?”

“He should be, but tell them to bring blood anyway.”

“I will.” A beat, then: “Natasha—”

“We’ll be fine. Found an abandoned house to hole up in while we wait. We had a tail leaving and I would prefer to be gone before the sun is up, but Barnes has guns enough to share. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

Suitably mollified, or at least aware that she wasn’t going into details over the phone, he ended the call not long after. Steve was a good leader, she had no doubt the extraction team would be on its way in minutes. All they had to do was stay there and not be found and all would be well again. Or whatever passed as ‘well’ these days. Back to whatever her life had become after the Avengers had torn itself apart, after they brought SHIELD down, after the ghost of Christmas past came back to haunt her.

She swallowed, hard, composed herself, and turned.

Barnes was cleaning the wound as best as he could. His dress shirt and bulletproof vest on the floor next to her discarded skirt and his pants low on his hips. The thick muscles of his back shifted as he twisted to see while he cleaned. Even like that he was beautiful. Wounded and stubbornly self-sufficient to the point of suicidal, but so very beautiful.

It felt like a personal affront to her. “Goddammit, Barnes. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And when was I supposed to do that? When we were trying to get away? When they were chasing us?” He didn’t stop cleaning around the wound. Angry strokes cleared skin and revealed bruises forming around the wound.

“When you were shot. I could’ve helped.” Natasha didn’t fold her arms across her chest, but oh, did she want to.

“Helped how, exactly? Further delays would have killed both of us.”

He wasn’t wrong, and that annoyed her even more. But he wasn’t right either and if he wasn’t so damn stubborn, he might even realize that. If he’d been the one driving, she might have been able to put pressure on the blood while shooting at their pursuers.

“So you thought it would be better if it was just you who died?”

He shrugged and the additional strain pulled on the wound, made it bleed again.

“Goddammit, Barnes,” she said again, both in response to his sudden lack of survival instinct and to the fresh blood.

The mattress leaning against a wall was short, shorter than her, and ridiculously short compared to him, but it would have to do. She dragged it over by the window where light from outside filtered in and spread the blanket from the car on top of it.

“Lie down,” Natasha said, pointing at the mattress.

“I can take care of it.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. You don’t need anyone’s help. Especially not mine.  And I’m telling you to lie down.”

He fell silent, but actually did as she asked. She’d been sure she’d have to knock him out first.

At least the wound had more or less stopped bleeding. He’d need an X-ray to determine if the hipbone had fractured, but an examination of his abdomen, despite Barnes’ protests, had revealed no soreness there, so at least the bullet hadn’t ruptured his intestines. She cleaned the fresh blood off first and then carefully around the edges of each wound. When she was satisfied, she placed long, thin strips of tape on top of the wound to keep the edges together and finally bandages to seal it off. The cut on his hand was shallower and didn’t need any dressing.

Next item on the list was getting some food and water into him, making up for the lost blood till the extraction team arrived. She got up to fetch them.

The second her back was turned to him, he said, “Why did you say that? Why especially not you?”

Because it was Steve he remembered and it was so goddamn unfair her knuckles were calloused from her frequent use of heavy bags. Because he never spoke to her unless she spoke to him first. Because he’d only looked at her with confusion when she asked him to at least recognize her. But she didn’t say that, instead she said, “Because I’m tired and cold.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. With the adrenalin from the chase gone there was little to keep the cold from penetrating her bones. Bare feet and legs, with only the suit jacket to keep her warm - a task it failed miserably at. Comfortable as it was, it hugged her hips so tightly it slid up with each step she took, and the wide shoulders didn’t seem to want to stay on her much narrower ones. And it smelled of him, so much that it would no doubt haunt her dreams for weeks like he haunted her waking hours.

“Why do you have to make my life so complicated, солдат?” Natasha hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words were out before she could stop them.

”I’m a mess, Natalia, you deserve so much better.” He sounded apologetic. Like everything that had been done to him was somehow his fault.

She deserved better than the only man who had loved her without reservations, despite having seen her at her cruelest, at her weakest. Bitter, reckless laughter bubbled in her chest.

“This isn’t funny.” There was that edge to Barnes’ voice again. The one apparently reserved for when she did things he didn’t approve of.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed and forced the self-pity into a tiny box in the back of her mind. He was paying for a lot of things that weren’t his fault, including getting shot because she had been made, dealing with her hurt feelings shouldn’t be added to it. She deposited the bags of food and water on the mattress next to him. “But it’s okay, I can wait.”

He leaned back against the wall under the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I’m not—this isn’t just a thing I’ll get over. I have blood on my hands that I can never make up for. I can never be the guy you remember.”

“Why do you think I want you to? Bucky Barnes is a grumpy old man, but he has a name, people who care deeply about him.”

“People. You mean Steve?”

“Steve, Sam. Me. More if you’d let them.”

“Natalia,” he said, pleadingly. Then he looked away, at the mattress, the floor, his own legs, anywhere but at her.

“It’s okay,” Natasha repeated and found that despite the uproar inside, she meant it. “Like I said, I can wait. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a few decades more.” She got up again and made it all the way to the door before the sound of his voice froze her in her tracks.

“Don’t—”

“If you tell me to not wait for you, I swear I’ll punch you in the face. Bullet wound, or no bullet wound.” She managed somehow keep her tone light, to sound as if she was joking.

Her phone pinged and she dug it out, thankful for the interruption. Less so when she read the message.

_ETA 3 hours. Will you be okay till then?_

“The team will be here in three hours. Steve’s apparently coming with them,” she said without turning to face him. “You should eat something, get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Barnes didn’t try to stop her this time and she left before she could break her promise so soon after giving it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is the best (as always) and *certain* people are even denser than usual.

The extraction team arrived with about as much subtlety as could be expected when lead by the man who’d chosen ‘patriotic target board’ as the color scheme for his shield. Steve could be stealthy if he wanted to, but when it came to pulling his friends’ asses out of the fire, he really didn’t want to. If it meant they would get out of there faster, Natasha was okay with it. She’d already wiped the car down, and collected the leftovers from her short shopping trip and her ruined skirt in the now empty bags beforehand. Now if only Steve would stop fussing over Barnes, they might actually leave before sunup.

“I can walk by my own damn self,” Barnes said and shook Steve’s hand off.

Sam caught her eyes and rolled his own.

She smiled, appreciative of the distraction, then looked around the jet. “I guess I should have specified that by an extraction team, I meant something small and discreet. Like a pilot, a medic, and maybe two or three armed personnel.”

“You just be glad I managed to talk him down to a jet instead of a squadron,” Sam said with a sigh.

The exaggeration was too ridiculous to even consider, but it did its job beautifully; she grinned. “You know, it’s not too late to retire from this whole thing. Find a nice girl and settle down somewhere you don’t have to put up with these assholes.”

Sam laughed and Barnes turned to look over at them. She didn’t look back, but wrapped the stolen blanket tighter around her hips and found a seat near the front.

“That ship sailed a long time ago. My reputation is tarnished and my job given to someone who didn’t come running when Captain America asked for help.” Sam plopped down in a seat next to her.

“That’s a real shame. Then you’d have to find a real job if you decided to retire from saving the world from itself.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Have you paid your taxes? Like ever?”

“Hush, Steve will hear you.”

With everyone onboard, they finally took off and began the flight back. Once the jet leveled out, Sam unbuckled again and reached into a compartment to pull out a thermos. She took the offered cup gratefully and almost inhaled the coffee in one go. It was weaker than she preferred, but the warmth of it flowed through her and loosened tense muscles. As unresolved as her and Barnes’ talk had been, it had been good to have their past acknowledged. Even if it was still a sore point, some of the tension had been drained. She just hoped he felt the same. Warm and at ease, she looked over to check how he was doing.

Barnes had already been hooked up to a saline drip and the medic was examining his wound. She’d seen a gurney in the back of the jet, but that had clearly been nixed, leaving him with no other option but to sit sideways on one of the seats to allow the medic access to the wound. It looked more than a little awkward.

Steve was even less pleased with the situation. “Sometimes I think you pull stunts like this as payback.”

“Yeah, Rogers. I got shot in the ass just to piss you off.”

“You would.”

“You wish.”

“That retirement thing sure sounds better every time I have to listen to those two bicker,” Sam said, turning her attention back to him.

Natasha laughed and didn’t have to look back at Barnes to know he was glaring at Sam, because Sam’s face shifted from smiling to unamused as he glared back. Some people needed endless patience and being wrapped in cotton wool when recovering from something traumatic. Others needed people to not make a fuss about it and maybe a gentle poke once in a while, to show that people care, to let them get back on track.

Sam had quite clearly picked up on Barnes’ no-nonsense nature and decided he was an extreme case of the latter kind.

He wasn’t wrong. Wrapping Barnes in cotton wool would probably have had him lashing out or more likely just plain taking off. And their interactions only became that much more entertaining to watch because Sam knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He never pushed too far. And the end result was that he managed to get Barnes to glower outwards instead of inwards. Barnes on the other hand was so used to dealing with a little shit of a friend that it probably only endeared him to Sam.

Sam said something and pulled her from her unending contemplation of Barnes and every single person he interacted with. She had an answer ready before he noticed the lapse of attention. The two talked for the rest of the trip. It was easy and relaxing and so unlike what the next days would become once she set her plan in motion.

 

* * *

  

The very first thing Natasha did after they touched down was take a shower. The second was to dress in something comfortable, warm, and not bright red. The boots in particular were a welcomed addition compared to her previous ensemble.

She inspected the hole in Barnes’ suit jacket; it was small and easily mended in the right hands. She had a short-list, covering several continents, of people with the right skills. People who would get the job done and not ask questions. When the job was mending an obvious bullet hole, the latter was just as important as the former. It would be easy to go to the nearest one, have them fix the jacket and delivered it to Barnes afterwards, but then she wouldn’t have an excuse to check up on him before she left.

A quick search located a notepad and pen and Natasha wrote down the address of the nearest shop willing and capable of repairing bullet holes and not blab about it. Underneath it she wrote, after considering and discarding several longer messages: ‘Have them fix the jacket and bill me.’

Knowing him, she also made a mental note of swinging by the shop herself and telling them about the customer she was sending them and that they were to bill her for the repair.

Game face on, she folded the jacket over an arm and made her way to see him.

The room was empty save for the man in question. The medic having done what they could to help, it was up to his healing abilities to take care of the rest. Even Steve had left for now, for which she was thankful. A little privacy went a long way for the chronically paranoid.

He was on his feet already, wearing a pale gray tracksuit, packing his blood-stained clothes into a bag. Her arrival made him pause for a second before he nodded, and said, “Hey.” He didn’t smile, but he also didn’t tense up or blank his face. Progress.

“Hey,” she said back. “Thank you for letting me borrow your jacket.” She handed it to him, studying his movements without being too obvious about it. He looked better, exhausted but better. Not that it slowed him down. ‘Ain’t no rest for the wicked’ as the song went.

He waved off her gratitude and packed the jacket with the rest of his clothes. “Told you that dress was a bad idea.”

“Barnes,” she said, exasperated, more out of habit than annoyance.

He pulled a face. “Ya gotta stop calling me that. No one’s called me Barnes since there was a ‘sergeant’ attached to it.”

Was this the man Steve saw when he looked at him? Blue eyes bright with not quite amusement, but something that could easily turn into it, body loose, and face actually expressive. Teasing him back really was the only option.

“A compromise: I call you James instead,” Natasha  offered.

“How is that a compromise?” He raised an eyebrow at her, amused.

“It’s not Barnes and it’s not _Bucky_.” She sneered at the nickname, just to see him smile again. It worked. It was small and crooked, but it was a smile.

If he was going to say anything else, the moment was ruined by Steve’s footsteps coming down the corridor towards the room. They both turned to face the door and Steve was greeted by the two of them looking at him when he turned the corner.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy. At all,” Steve said and returned their silent stares.

For once, Natasha didn’t have a snappy retort and she shrugged instead, but that only made Steve shake his head.

“I swear, the two of you react like twins sometimes,” he said.

The control of otherwise involuntary reactions like blushing or flinching was taught in the Red Room. It didn’t do to react the wrong way while on a job, that was an easy way to get killed. It was also very useful when keeping secrets from friends.

“I need to take a few days to figure some things out,” she said and gave Steve the rundown of what had happened at the auction.

He had questions, both to their assessment of events and to expand on details. She answered them readily, because none of them touched areas she wasn’t willing to go into. Barnes - no _James_ \- added his own comments to it, curiously stripped of anything that indicated just how big of a screw-up her being made had been. He said: ‘I got shot.’ Instead of: ‘Romanoff fucked up and I got shot as a result of it.’ It was nice of him, but also very misleading. Not that she never told half-truths, but at least she didn’t do it for something as stupid as sparing someone’s feelings. Who knew James Barnes could be that sentimental?

When they were done accounting for the events, she explained that she was going to find the leak and take care of it.

“Right, I should be able to get a team together by noon. Anyone in particular you want on it?” Steve asked when she paused.

She had expected the reaction. “I’ve gotten enough people shot in the past twenty-four hours. I’ll deal with it on my own. If I need help, I’ll let you know.”

It was a self-pitying thing to say and she was unable to even glance at James who’d somehow managed to go without any blatant displays of self-flagellation with perhaps even more blood on his hands.

Steve opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand to forestall him.

“This isn’t up for discussion. Until I know more, this is my problem and mine alone.” She said it looking at Steve, but the words were mostly meant for James.

Steve didn’t argue and neither did James. Miracles did happen.

She said goodbye to Steve but waited until she was halfway out the door to look over her shoulder at James. He had an unreadable expression on his face. That was new. He usually blanked his face when she disappointed him. Natasha nodded at him and left before he had a chance to voice his complaint.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha doesn't know how to share and *certain people* continue being bad at saying what they really mean.

Even though Natasha was expecting the knock, it surprised her by coming earlier than she’d anticipated. And if she was completely honest, she’d hoped it would have been a phone call instead. Dealing with Steve’s puppy dog eyes was a skill few mastered. His entire career was a testament to that fact. And if he had brought Sam, who had no doubt also a lot to say about her going solo, she’d have to go up against his charm too.

Natasha closed the laptop and went to the front door of her apartment, ready for the confrontation. A look through the peephole revealed neither of the two. Instead James was standing outside her door, now dressed in his usual attire of dark jeans and a leather jacket, glancing up and down the hallway as he waited.

Huh.

It being him to turn up explained why the timing had been so off. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of him turning up, but it left her with several new questions. First and foremost, what was his plan? There had to be one since he’d made it pretty clear he thought he was too messed up to go near her other than on missions.

Before she could find an answer, he slipped the leather glove off his right hand and dug out a phone. After he unlocked the phone, he only tapped it twice and a second later her phone rang. The phone she’d stuck in a pocket when she went to answer the door.

He didn’t even bother to hold his phone to his ear, ending the call after only two rings and putting it away.

“Steve’s going to pay for this,” she announced when she opened the door.

He ducked his head and his lips curled in a crooked smile. “To be fair, he doesn’t know I lifted your info from his phone”

“To be fair, he should know better.”

James shrugged, somehow managing to look both innocent and mischievous at the same time. Fortunately, it didn’t last long. He unzipped his jacket’s right pocket and pulled out a black velvet pouch, dangling it by the strings and holding it out for her.

She hesitated long enough for him to shift his focus from the pouch to her face, and the look in his eyes was strange, intense. Relenting, she held out her hand and wasn’t the least bit surprised when the content of the bag shifted as it settled on her fingers.

Silver glinted from the bottom of the pouch as she opened it, but the sheen was wrong for silver when she took it out. Wrong for white gold and platinum, too. Natasha wondered idly what the per gram rate of vibranium was and how many people in the world had the skills it took to make a delicate necklace out of it. The pendant was even more finely crafted. It looked like a fat drop of arterial blood, bright red and filled with life, suspended in a net of the not-silver.

It was beautiful.

“For the one you lost,” he said casually, like it was something he’d just picked up. Something available at the nearest supermarket or even the nearest jeweler shop.

She didn’t confront him about it, not yet. “Thank you,” she said, infusing her voice with all the feelings left of young Natalia’s love for a man with no name, with the Widow’s never waning admiration of the Soldier, and with Natasha Romanoff’s fondness of grumpy, old man Barnes. The latter somehow much stronger than the former two.

He ducked his head again and rubbed his neck with a smile that told her however much he’d paid for the necklace, it had been worth it. She almost wished he’d just come here to deliver the gift with no hidden agenda. Then the moment of weakness was over and she raised an eyebrow at him when he glanced behind her. James’ answering smile was every bit suave, young Bucky Barnes and nearly blinding.

“Not gonna invite me in? Don’t leave a guy hanging like this.”

Natasha let the necklace drop back into the pouch and pulled the drawstrings tight. “Charming. What would your mother say to you trying to buy your way into a girl’s home with pretty baubles?” She didn’t have to raise an eyebrow at him because it was already up. She did have to fight not to smile. As manipulative as the move was, it still revealed something unexpected. Maybe keeping her at a distance wasn’t working for him, after all. “I thought you knew better than to try to sway a Widow.”

The smile disappeared like a light bulb switched off. He studied her for several seconds before shrugging and saying, “I do, but I had to try.”

The sheer audacity of the man. She almost laughed. “Cute, but that boyish charm usually works better when not heavily armed.” She didn’t look at the guns by his left side and right ankle, because that would admit ignorance of the weaponry she hadn’t spotted. And she was certain he carried at least one more and maybe a couple of knives.

“Like you’d have me any other way,” he said and blinked rapidly when he realized what he’d said. He shook his head. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“So nothing you’d do?” she shot back, hoping his own mishap had kept him from noticing how her breath had caught.

The crooked smile that line had earned her still disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “The thing is,” James began and paused. “The thing is that you don’t have the Serum. You don’t bounce back the way I do.”

She smiled when she answered, like she was half joking, but she was being as painfully honest as he’d just been. “I’ve gotten you shot already. I need to clean up my own messes before I involve anyone else.”

He frowned at her. “You didn’t get me shot, Natalia. I was distracted, I was shot.”

She almost laughed at the idea of the Winter Soldier being distracted. It was that ridiculous. “I find it hard to believe that you’d be distracted by anything,” she said, the barely contained laughter taking the sting out of her words.

“Yeah, well, I told you that dress was a bad idea. Just look at where it got me.” He gestured at wound at his back.

This time Natasha did laugh. It wasn’t even that funny. Tension unspooled as she leaned against the door frame, wrecked with laughter.

His wide grin faltered and he looked at her with such longing it stilled her laughter in seconds. “Fuck it,” James mumbled so faintly she barely caught it. “I miss you. I miss—“ he said and gestured between them.

This conversation shouldn’t be held in a hallway where anybody could walk past. But if she invited him in she might do something stupid, like letting him help her. Like taking him to bed and never leaving except to get food.

She put her hand on the side of his face to stop him from talking. To stop herself from simply wrapping herself around him. The skin was warm under her hand, the barely twenty-four hour old stubble like worn sandpaper. He removed her hand and for a panicky second she thought she’d somehow misunderstood him and he was rejecting her. Then he kissed the palm of it and the tips of each finger. She shivered.

“Don’t get hurt. I can’t lose you again.” He let go of her hand to place warm fingers along the line of her jaw, tilting her face up and brushing his lips against her so lightly it barely counted as a kiss.

Even the brief contact burned Natasha, seared through her skin, made its way to the heart at least half her old co-workers at SHIELD had suspected was made of steel. “Not making any promises. But I will try not to get shot, since you asked so nicely,” she said, proving that the hold she had over it was stronger than the strongest steel.

His silent laughter was a huff of warm air on her skin, then he pulled back. “You’d better. Call me when you’re done.”

“Fine. Now, shoo. I have to work,” she said and waved him off.

He moved back and damn him if she didn’t want to stop him right there and then. He looked back at her over his shoulder like he was waiting for her to do it. He waited in vain. She closed the door and leaned against it before he reached the door to her neighbor. Her heart might be weak when it came to him, but she didn’t let it rule her.

She did however loop the necklace over her head before she left. It was cool on her skin, the pendant resting just below her collarbone. A little touch of sentimentality to make up for leaving by the fire escape to not tempt James to follow her despite promises just given.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha sets her plan in motion and Bucky has ~~**opinions**~~ about it.

An unexpected bonus of AirBnB: No nosy neighbors to wonder why the top-floor apartment in that lovely brownstone was almost always empty. It made keeping safe houses and decoy addresses for covers under the radar so much simpler. Case in point – Tanya Roman’s apartment. An apartment Natasha only ever visited wearing Photostatic veil and a wig, and only when she needed to. And she needed to now, needed to figure out how that particular cover was blown.

Tightly guarded facilities rarely managed to delay Natasha for long if she wanted in. Breaking into an apartment that she had picked out, bought, and installed every single security feature in? That she could have done in her sleep, with one hand tied behind her back. But then the real danger didn’t come from getting caught as a burglar, it came from whatever might have been left for her. So instead of going by the front door, she took the backdoor, or rather the balcony.

Scanning the French doors proved to be pointless. The device picked up on the tripwire, but so had she when she looked through the glass doors. The tripwire connected to enough explosives to reduce the outer wall to rubble and her to something far mushier, so she took her time disarming it. Not that she minded. Its presence just confirmed her theory.

The front door had the same set-up, without the added bonus of being able to see it from the other side of the door. Opening it would have done enough damage to risk the life of the downstairs neighbor. Before disarming it, too, Natasha scanned the entire door and this time she did pick up more than met the eye. Along with the very visible tripwire, was an invisible laser beam. If the circuit was broken, by disarming the first one or opening the door, the signal would be cut off, notifying whoever planted it.

Yeah, this was exactly what she needed to proceed.

To be sure, though, Natasha decided to search the rest of the apartment for other gifts the intruders might have left for her. It paid to be well prepared and since they had gone through so much trouble setting up the traps, she didn’t want to disappoint.

Before coming here, she had done what she could pulling strings and activating her network, but even if she still needed to hear back from a few, she had given up hope of getting anything useful. Whoever connected Tanya Roman to Natasha Romanoff hadn’t felt the need to boast about it.

More interesting, though, even with the connection made, they hadn’t expected her at the auction. If they had, she and James wouldn’t have been held by a few low level security guards. Trained and heavily armed guards would already have been present at the location instead of having to wait for them to arrive. Plus they had tied James and her up with nylon ropes for crying out loud. Not even the reinforced zip ties that most respectable would-be kidnappers used these days.

But while they had been unprepared at the auction, that clearly wasn’t the case here. Tanya wasn’t listed in the phonebook, like any other rich person who didn’t want their address public. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be found. A cover without a trail of a life lived was hardly worth anything. So the address could be found if you knew where to look.

Which, apparently, James had realized, too.

The part of her that made her move into his touch when he kissed her in a hallway, that had made her disobey the Red Room in the first place, was pleased to see him standing in the shadows across the street, sipping coffee like he was waiting for someone. Happy even. Despite how his presence interfered with her plans. But now she had to go back out onto the balcony, scale the side of the building to the roof, and go down the stairway to try, for the second time that day, to talk some sense into the man.

“You know, I was pretty sure the agreement was I don’t get hurt and you let me do my thing,” she said as a greeting when she reached him.

“You went back to the address of a blown cover, Natalia.”

The Winter Soldier, the one who didn’t have a name, but had whispered hers like it was a prayer, would not have been able to say that without a frown. Might even have scolded her for it. James said it with a tone of voice that betrayed nothing. It stung, more than a little.

“Which is why I didn’t tell you about my plan.”

He stared at her blankly, and then he put down the coffee and scrubbed both hands over his face. When he finally looked at her again, he said, “I swear to God, you’re worse than Steve. Even back when he was a little runt, determined to beat up every bad person in the world.”

It was almost funny. Without the explosives and the people waiting at the other end of that signal, it would have been. She wanted to protect him, so she told him to stay away. He wanted to protect her, so he went against her wishes.

It was almost funny, but Natasha didn’t laugh, instead she said, “Stick to the agreement, James. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“I can _help_ you.”

“No, you can’t. What you can do, is make the goons more alert when they have to keep track of a six foot killing machine, instead of a five foot Maxim cover girl.”

“I’ll stay out of sight. Not make a move unless you need me to.”

He wasn’t going to give in. He was going to stick to her side like a burr and if he was spotted, they would try to kill him and people would get hurt. _James_ might even get hurt. For the second time on her watch. And she might, too. The whole small and fragile act really depended on being perceived as small and fragile. Natasha sighed and unzipped her jacket, digging out a pair of earpieces and handing him one of them.

“Fine. We can keep in contact with this. If things turn south, you can come save the day. But you need to stay out of sight until I tell you not to. Happy?”

“No,” he said, but put in the earpiece anyway.

“Good.” She unzipped further to dig out her phone.

“It suits you,” he said, when he noticed the necklace.

She smiled crookedly at him. “As you knew it would.”

“As I knew it would,” he confirmed and shrugged.

The nerve of the man.

Holding up her phone, she said, “I’ve send you a link to an app you can use to track me. Now go away and don’t bug me again unless I explicitly tell you to.”

James nodded but didn’t leave.

“I’m going to have to hold you to the not getting hurt part of our agreement,” he said and had clearly meant to pass it off as a joke, but the tight set of his jaw told a different story.

He was what? Almost a hundred years old chronologically? Probably around thirty biologically going by the lines he had around his eyes. Too old to be looking at her with stars in his eyes at any rate. And she was too old to respond to it.

“Like I would miss out on proving how wrong you are, worrying about me, мили мой.”

He stared at her for a couple of endless seconds, then he nodded again and moved past her with long loping strides that would have forced her to half run, had Natasha tried to follow him.

It was finally time to put her plan in motion.

 

* * *

 

It took twelve and a half minutes for the hit squat to turn up after she’d tripped the silent alarm. Not bad considering how many there were, but it would have been too slow if she had run instead of waiting for them. To really sell the story, Natasha even acted surprised when they burst through the windows and only broke the arm instead of the neck of the first one who attacked her.

She did however curse under her breath when two of them brandished electric cattle prods. Bruises she could deal with, a precise hit from one of those would leave her nerve endings tingling for hours afterwards.

When she finally allowed one to connect, it hurt like she knew it would. The second hit was on bare skin and she was glad she managed to swallow her grunt of paint. James would no doubt have come running if he’d heard it. At least that meant she didn’t have to fake falling to her knees, it was hard to do without looking overly dramatic.

The last thing she said, just before she blacked out, was, “Not yet.”

Not to the goon closing in on her, but to James, hoping that this time he’d obey. Otherwise she’d have gotten several new bruises for nothing. Then the punch connected and stars filled her vision, then finally nothingness swallowed her up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nat's plan unfolds despites Bucky's very best efforts and blood is spilled.

The world snapped back into focus much faster than it went away. Hard edges of zip ties dug into Natasha’s wrists and ankles, pulling her flush against a wooden chair. Almost no room for movement. Getting free would probably add raw wrists to her list of bruises. The throbbing at her temple and ribs promised some especially colorful ones.

Two- no, three - hostiles in the room with her. The low murmur of the two in front of her almost covered the slight rustle of clothes from behind. Out of sight, out of mind. Smart. She’d have to watch out for that one.

Signaling to the two inattentive captors that she was awake, she groaned, lolling her head like it was too heavy for her neck. Using the hair hanging in front of her face as a cover to study the two as they approached.

Even as outlines, the two couldn’t be any more different. One slim, dressed in a suit. The other about as wide as he was tall, and wearing pants with more bulky pockets than anyone could find a use for. There was something familiar about the suit. But the setting was off, he didn’t belong in a room made of concrete and dust. And not just because his suit was far too expensive for an abandoned factory.

Apparently, he agreed with her assessment.

Without even looking at his lackey, the suit snapped his fingers, actually snapped his fingers at the bodyguard, and walked over to Natasha. The bodyguard ran across the room, fetched a chair, and ran back, to place the chair behind his boss. The suit sat and folded his hands in front of him.

Great, it was going to be one of those kinds of interrogations.

“Miss Romanoff, I’m glad you finally found time in your busy schedule do come see me,” said the suit, as if he hadn’t violently abducted her.

“Ms.”

“I— What?”

“I’d prefer _Ms_. Romanoff, if you don’t mind.” Natasha smiled sweetly at him.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then continued, “ _Miss_ Romanoff, I have a business proposal for you and I hope you’ll take it into careful consideration.”

It was rather impressive he could spout lines like that without flinching. What with his rent-a-goon standing beside him. She decided to call his bluff. “You know, the procedure for that is to submit a request to my attorney. Roughing me up and kidnapping me isn’t usually a part of it.”

The suit nodded at the blond tank next to him who, in turn, stepped closer to Natasha.

The thing about pretending to be soft and vulnerable was that a lot of it depended on physicality. Talking back was fine, but dodging punches wasn’t. Even prepared for it, the blow connected with enough force to make her head ring.

“Are you finally ready to listen to what I have to say?” the suit asked.

She shrugged without meeting his eyes.

The sullen act must have pleased him, because he leaned back and crossed his legs, ankle-on-knee. “Good. I don’t want to have to hurt you. It’ll be easier for everybody if you stopped fighting me,” said the suit, almost making her give up her plans. While torture only got out of the victim what they thought the torturer wanted to hear, Natasha was willing to give it a go if he kept this up.

He was apparently waiting for a response from her, and she awarded him another reluctant shrug.

“How do you think I found ‘Tanya Roman’s’ apartment?”

Well, that _was_ the million-dollar question. Even though the cover was from her time as a SHIELD agent, it hadn’t been in her file, so it never got released along with the rest. She’d kept it that way on purpose; a spy needed her secrets to stay alive.

“I’m guessing Harper told you,” she said, knowing full well that Harper hadn’t dug that intel out on her own. It had either been sold to her by the suit or the same person the suit had bought it from.

The suggestion worked even better than she’d hoped, his smug expression evaporate. “Harper?”

“Angela Harper. Head of Harper Transport. Blonde, tall, looks like Paris Hilton?”

“Yes, I know who she is. And no, she didn’t tell me, I told— Wait, did she approach you? I swear to God, if that bitch—“ Cutting himself off for the second time, the suit took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, Widow. It’s not gonna work on me. I know your tricks. I’ve studied you, read every transcript of your debriefings available. And a few that aren’t,” the suit said, making a liar out of himself.

Natasha only tilted her head, giving him her full attention.

“My proposition is simple. You work for me and a second set of files on you won’t get released.” He paused to let it sink in. “Your SHIELD files were nothing - nothing! - compared to what I’ve got. I’ve got the full account of what really happened in Odessa. I’ve got names of informants, people who aren’t supposed to be working with you.”

He was finally telling she what she had come here for and Natasha kept quiet, letting him spill as much as possible.

Unfortunately, he read her silence as uncertainty. “Look, you’re doing the world a favor with this deal, you’re taking out a lot of criminals. The only difference is that I tell you which ones to take out. It’ll even be easier, because I’ll give you information you can only get by being on the inside.”

“And what do I get out of this ‘deal’?” she said, uninterested in his justifications.

“I told you: your files will be kept secret.”

“How do I know you’re not lying about what you have? You’ve been very vague.”

“You want examples? How about Nairobi, 2010? Or how about I call up Sofia Blum to see how she’s doing?”

Now there was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. Natasha swallowed visibly, to make sure the suit saw it. “That’s not good enough.” She raised her chin in a child’s idea of defiance.

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate.”

“If you want me to work for you, you might want to rethink that. I need more than hints.”

The suit laughed. “Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re angling for? There’s no need to play coy with me.”

And yet playing coy instead of demanding worked its charm on him. “I need access to the files. To see what’s in them.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Before I leave, if possible.”

Seconds ticked by before the suit answered. “Not all of them. I pick which ones you get to see.”

She pretended to think about it. “Fine, but it’d better be good ones.”

“Only the best for you, Natasha,” said the suit, making her wish she’d gone with the torture option instead. Then he got up, smiled his sickening smile at her, and said, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

Teaching him what happened to people who tried to blackmail the Black Widow was going to be a joy.

Before he turned away, the suit looked at the yet unseen person behind her and said, “Keep her here.”

No audible answer, but he seemed satisfied, because he left without looking back. The blond wall of muscles followed him, pulling the door closed behind the two of them.

In the silence after the click of the door, the only other sound was another faint rustling of clothes, but it was enough to keep Natasha motionless.

“I don’t have to cock my gun, to let you know it’s aimed at the back of your head, right?” asked a pleasant female voice from behind her. Smart, as Natasha had expected, maybe bordering on smart-ass.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good. We’ll just wait here till they return. No problems for anyone.”

“No problems at all,” Natasha confirmed.

“Can’t tell where he went, all the windows are papered over,” James said, his voice crystal clear through the earpiece, making it sound like he was standing behind her, whispering into her ear. “But I’ve got eyes on a handful of guards out front, a pair of them are circling the building. Counted three going inside earlier, could be more though, didn’t see them take you.”

“Thank you, James. You take care of them, then I’ll deal with the ones inside.”

There were several seconds of stunned silence following James’ affirmation, then the guard spoke again. This time her voice was far less pleasant. “Who were you talking to?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She shifted her feet from the front of the chair to the sides, and waited for the right moment. A hand in her hair, pulling it back to check for an earpiece, marked it a few seconds later.

In stressed situations, even trained guards could forget that guns were a ranged weapon.

Pushing against the back of the chair, Natasha shoved off with her feet. The chair tilted backwards, giving her room to slip her feet free. She’d hoped to hit the guard in the stomach with it, but only managed to glance her side. The ‘oof’ of winded surprise was nice, though. While the chair was still tipping, Natasha twisted in the seat, and landed on her feet spinning, and slammed the chair into the guard’s stomach.

The chair didn’t break. Fuck.

Her hands were tied, but there were twenty-five pounds of wood tied to them. She made good use of it. Letting herself fall backwards, Natasha gripped the back of the chair and kicked upwards with both feet. The kick pushed the air out of the guard’s lungs and the trajectory of the bullet about a foot to the left. Natasha still felt the rush from its passage.

Continuing her use of the chair as a battering ram, she knocked the gun to the floor and the guard’s legs out from under her. A kick to the head kept her down.

The back of the chair broke apart willingly enough once she focused on it. She dropped the pieces just in time to see the door crack open. Eighteen feet to the door, four to the dropped gun. Natasha went for the gun.

She raised as a kid looked in. He couldn’t be much more than twenty, with a look of caution on his face and an AR-15 in his hand.

Unlike him, Natasha didn’t hesitate.

He went down without having even raised his semi, and with twin holes in his chest.

Potentially, there were two more guards outside the door, so she didn’t waste any time. She ran to it, flattening herself against the wall, before she peeked out. The hallway was empty. She looked down at the dead guard and cursed.

“You okay?” Came James’ voice over the earpiece.

“Fine. Just regretting certain choices.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. A couple of suppressed shots from whatever high caliber rifle he was using punctuated the silence.

“I see you’ve relocated your sense of humor.”

He hummed noncommittally.

Natasha suppressed a smile and looked down either side of the corridor. Left side had footprints in the dust, the right was undisturbed. She went left, jogging along the hallway, gun at the ready. James interrupted her, as she got to a door labeled ‘Foyer’.

“Outside’s clear. Want me to do a sweep inside?”

“No, I’m on it,” she said, hand on the doorknob. “Just make sure no one leaves.”

“Of course.” He paused. “And Natalia?”

“I know, be careful.”

There were three guards in the foyer, supposedly on guard, but none of them looked her way. Her taser discs would really have come in handy now. Handier than a gun that would only warn the suit she was coming. She got within ten feet of the closest one before he noticed the movement and looked up from his phone.

She smiled at him, all teeth and none of the warmth. “Hey there.”

The phone guy gaped at her while the one on the left went for his Glock. He wouldn’t get time to fire it.

Natasha lunged for him, dropping to her knees and sliding up to him. Just before she reached him, she twisted, kicking out with her right leg. It connected with his knee, bending the leg backwards. He didn’t get time to cry out either. The heel of her hand connected with his nose as he crumpled, driving splinters of it up into his brain, ending his life with a wet crunch.

One down, two to go.

The phone guy was still gaping while the third guard was struggling with his holster’s retention strap. She ran at them, too fast, too direct for the phone guy to realize he should do something other than panicking, try to catch her or block her, maybe even go for his gun. Too late, all too late. She already had two advantages on them: Momentum and leverage. Momentum from her sprint, leverage from her arm around the phone guy’s neck. She kicked with both legs, hitting the third guard in the chest; he stumbled, dropped his gun, fell.

Leverage brought the phone guy down, too, unbalanced as he already was.

The third guard was quickest on his feet. With the gun out of reach, he went for a knife. Stupid boy, it was her preferred weapon when it came to silent assassinations.

It was a messy death. Her hand sticky with his blood when he finally drew his last gurgling breath. Natasha turned, bloody knife in hand, to see the phone guy running for the exit. She didn’t wait to find out what happened to him. James had the outside covered, he wouldn’t get away.

Two doors left, one labeled Warehouse, the other used to be the director’s office. No question as to where the suit had gone.

Natasha knocked on the massive wooden door. If the giant bodyguard was inside, it was better to take him out first. Big, dumb and blonde opened the door right away. She greeted him with a smile and two bullets in the chest. He grunted and stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall. Heavy jowls had made her mistake some of his bulk for fat: it wasn’t. He had a tailored bullet-proof vest under an ill-fitting hoodie. Damn. Maybe he wasn’t so dumb after all.

The bodyguard looked down at the holes in his shirt, then up with what would probably have been a terrifying grin if she hadn’t been aiming a Glock at him.

He reached for the gun, so the first bullet tore through his hand before it thudded into the wall. The next two hit their targets, though, just above his eyebrows.

This time he did fall.

The office must have been impressive once. It was easy to see, even with paper over the windows. There were remains of a plush carpet on the floor, faded squares on the walls where paintings had hung, and a massive oak desk in the center of it. It must have been made there, because it was too big to come through the door. The doorframe even bore marks from failed attempts to remove it.

Maybe the suit had chosen this abandoned factory in particular because of it. He’d chosen to sit at it, at any rate, MacBook open and his hands still on it. He whipped his hands up over his head when Natasha smiled at him, though.

He kept them there for a couple of seconds, frozen in fear, then he yelled on top of his voice, “Help! I need help! Somebody—”

“Do you really think there’s anyone left to help you when I’ve just fired five rounds and no one has come running?” Natasha interrupted him.

“Look, you can have the files. I don’t care. Just let me go.”

“Well, you’re half right. Up against the wall. Keep your hands above your head.” She gestured at the wall next to the door and took his place behind the desk.

A pop-up on the screen said, ‘File deleted’ with two buttons underneath it. She clicked the one that said, ‘Cancel’.

“And in case you’re getting any bright ideas, I can quite comfortably keep my gun aimed at you while I work. If you like having knees, you’d better keep still.”

“I’m not going to run. Please, don’t shoot me.”

She didn’t dignify it with an answer.

There were files recently downloaded on the Mac, so presumably the suit had been clever enough to host the files somewhere online instead of having them on the actual hard drive. He hadn’t been clever enough to realize that unlike Windows computers, Apple computers allowed you to see the source of a file.

She checked a few of them and found they had all come from a NextCloud server. It wasn’t DropBox, but security-wise it was still enough to make her groan. Not exactly what her one-time captor wanted to hear.

“Listen, I can find it all for you. If you’ll let me show you—“

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Natasha said. “How did Harper know about my cover?” She had a pretty good idea, but wanted to hear it directly from the horse’s mouth.

“I told her, okay, I told her to impress her and I shouldn’t have.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The suit sent a look at her over his shoulder and she met it. Dumb as he’d been, he was clever enough to figure out why it didn’t matter anymore. He swallowed.

“Did you tell anyone else?” she prodded.

“No, I— I didn’t mean to tell her in the first place.”

“And how am I supposed to trust you on that?”

It took Natasha a couple of seconds to realize that the choking sounds he made was nervous laughter.

“You have my computer. Between the browser history, calendar, and mail, you can pretty much tell what I’ve been doing most hours of the day for years. I can give you my phone, too. I don’t—”

“Don’t. Move.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The suit shoved his hands higher up on the wall and kept apologizing.

She kept staring at him for a while before she turned her attention back to the screen. There were programs that would search the Mac and every account that had ever been accessed on it, but she’d feel more comfortable doing that kind of digging without a hostage to keep track of. And in a more secure location.

Reaching a decision, she closed the MacBook and flipped it over. Her set of lock picks and assorted related tools had been removed and there was a good chance they, along with her stingers and taser discs, were in one of the bodyguard’s many pockets, but they would have to wait. Violence worked just as well when the state of the rest of the computer was less important. Especially when she still had the folded knife she had hidden in the gore of her bra. It was only an inch and a half long, but strong enough for this kind of work.

“Are you with Hydra or are you just some asshole who used to work at SHIELD?” Natasha asked as she pried the bottom of the MacBook off.

She could almost see the cogwheels turning inside his head as he calculated which answer would give him the greatest chance of survival.

“Believe me when I tell you there’s no right answer.”

“Hydra, or, ah, I used to be.”

“They allow drop-outs?”

“They’re not what they used to be. I decided to branch out. I just didn’t tell them.”

The hard-drive fit snugly into the inner pocket of her jacket, but it fit. Satisfied, Natasha rounded the desk and walked over to where the bodyguard lay. “Exciting stuff. I can’t wait to hear all about it once we’ve got you tucked away in a nice little holding cell.”

With the Glock still aimed at the suit, she retrieved her things from the bodyguard’s pants of holding, tugging away their content as she found it.

What gave the trap away when they exited the office, wasn’t so much the suit’s reaction as it was his lack of reaction. He’d appeared horrified at the clean death of his giant bodyguard; he didn’t seem to notice the two bloody corpses in the foyer. Even if his relationship with them had been less close than with the bodyguard, the ripped-up throat and squashed nose should have been shocking enough to provoke a reaction.

Unless something else had his attention.

“If you want your boss to live, you should leave now. I have what I need, taking him in alive is just a bonus,” Natasha said to whomever was hiding in the foyer.

“My boss? You mean the bastard who admitted to ignoring our masters? Who got all my men killed?” The guard’s voice wasn’t pleasant this time. In fact, her voice promised violence in the near future.

Natasha moved closer to the door while the suit moved away from it, unaware he was moving from the frying pan into the fire.

“Hail Hydra,” said the guard and shot the suit.

He fell without a sound, his body collapsing with the grace of a sack of potatoes.

Natasha sighed, said, “You should have stayed down,” and made sure the guard did just that this time.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” she greeted James when she stepped outside.

He’d collected his motorbike from wherever he’d hidden it while he worked, and was leaning against it, a duffle bag slung across his back. “Ready to blow this joint?”

“More than ready.” Remembering the zip ties, Natasha corrected herself. “Wait, I need to…” She reached under her shirt, for the knife in her bra. The ties around her ankles were easily removed, but when she went to cut the one on her left wrist, the pull of the knife put pressure on a sore spot and she winced without meaning to.

“Here.” James reached for the knife, but didn’t take it until she handed it to him. His grip was feather-light, barely touching her at all as he slipped two fingers between the zip tie and her wrist. Neither the fingers nor the knife touched her wrist as he removed the tie.

He didn’t let go of her wrist when it was off, though. Not even as he closed the blade and handed it back to her. Gentle fingers, metal and flesh, brushed over red skin. When he gave the other wrist the same gentle examination, she stopped watching his fingers, to study his face openly.

He returned the look briefly, but didn’t stop examining her.

The line between his brows looked like it might be permanent if he ever stopped frowning. She’d seen the way the skin around his eyes crinkled with fine lines when he’d finally smiled at her and now she could see they had been etched into his skin, too. New lines that were so thin they were almost non-existent, but there all the same. She was glad they were. They were physical proof that he’d smiled in the time since... well, since he’s been her reason to smile.

So instead of a joke, she said in a gentle voice, “I’m fine, James.”

“I know you’re fine, I’m making sure you’re not hurt,” he said in a gruff voice.

If his eyes hadn’t flickered to hers, she might even have believed it. “I’m beat, loverboy. Please take me home instead.”

 

* * *

 

That request James fulfilled without bargaining. Natasha rode behind him on the bike, his back wide and solid to lean against. Safe, or at least as safe as she could ever feel.

 

* * *

 

The last bit of adrenaline drained out of her during the trip. When they arrived at her building, she was left with a sore body and an urgent need to get inside. She got off the bike and turned back to James, who stood looking at her, still straddling the bike.

“Thank you for being a stubborn ass,” she said fondly.

He grinned, wide and blindingly. “It’s what I do best.”

“I’d invite you up, but my plans for the evening only include a long bath and falling asleep to House of Cards.” She said it with a half-smile, but it made his fade away and she added quickly, “You’re welcome to tag along. You’re always welcome. I’m just not going to be very entertaining.”

After two missions in as many days and no sleep in between, Natasha was beat. Had he been anyone else, she’d had hidden it; kept her smile bright and her step bouncy. She’d never had to pretend with him. It was what’d made him so dangerous to her in the first place. But she was tired and all she wanted was to sleep while someone watched over her.

He took her hand when she reached out for him and kept holding it all the way up the stairs. Didn’t let go until they were inside.

He paused there, with the closed door behind him, hovering like he didn’t want to invade her space. She was about to say something when he finally spoke.

“I have to say this now, or I’ll lose my nerve,” James said, standing in her hallway, staring holes into her hardwood floor. “I had this plan. And I know how stupid it sounds. But I had this plan of taking you out to a nice restaurant to make up for never– never doing any of that back then. To buy you flowers and take you on long walks on Coney Island. I just wanted to wait till I’d be okay with going to a restaurant.”

And what could she say to that? She’d never been one for grand romantic gestures, but he knew that already. He wasn’t telling her this to impress her.

“I used to be quite the ladies’ man, ya know. I could have swept you off your feet before…” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, into infinity.

“I might still be standing, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any sweeping of feet,” Natasha said and stepped closer. Brushing a lock of hair behind his ear when he refused to look at her.

He smiled, weakly, apologetically. “I still wanna take you out. Just maybe not to a restaurant. I have this place. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s secure. I could take you there, and make you dinner, instead.”

He meant a safe house, a bolt hole that only he knew about. Because he wouldn’t consider it secure if other people had access to it. Now there was a romantic gesture Natasha could appreciate. Taking someone to a restaurant indicated disposable income and the ability to look up restaurants on Yelp. Inviting someone to a safe house spoke of immeasurable trust, since it could be fatal if that trust was unfounded.

“I’d love that, James,” was all she said.

His heart beat fast under her hand when she rested it on his chest. At least as fast as her own. The warmth of his skin was obvious, even through the thick white tee. But it wasn’t the heat that made her step closer, cold as she was. It was his arms snaking around her. It was his blue eyes shining down on her. It was his soft hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones as it fell forward.

It always amazed her how gentle he could be.

The first kiss was like the one they shared through the open door, feather light and barely there. Natasha slid a hand up into his hair and pulled him closer to ensure the next one was deeper. Stubble scratched her skin and finally he opened his mouth to her, his tongue slick against hers, his hunger for her as deep as hers for him.

She lost track of time standing there.

So perhaps it was more of a compliment to his kissing skills than an insult, that she didn’t notice the telltale tension in her jaw before she cracked a yawn, mid kiss.

James pulled back. “Was that a yawn?”

“No,” she said and yawned again.

He laughed and it was the best sound she’d heard. Or felt, more like it, his chest heaving against hers. “Go take your shower, you reek of blood.”

“Ugh, I know. My jacket is ruined.” She sighed and let go of him reluctantly to finally enter the living room.

“If only you had any experience getting blood out of your clothes.” He followed close behind, so she couldn’t see his face, but the mocking tone of his voice was obvious enough on its own.

“Heathen! This is fine leather, it needs to be treated with care.” She shrugged out of the jacket, hung it over a chair, and returned to him.

He cradled her face, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone. “Go, shower, моя любовь. I’ll be here with NetFlix ready when you get out.”

She did and he was. Natasha almost managed to stay awake for an entire episode of House of Cards before she fell asleep, tucked up against James. His arm around her waist, his breath in her hair. It was the best sleep she’d had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To paraphrase Archer: being unconscious after a hit to the head for a long period of time is super bad for you. But this is a fic about a woman who hasn’t aged since the 50’s and a guy with a metal arm, so, yeah.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally get to the pay-off.
> 
> This is 3246 words of pure fluff and smut, and I’m not even remotely sorry. Who needs plot when you can have fluff and smut? With hints of Staron because I wrote that bit during BuckyNat and Staron Month.

For someone who had dodged both the authorities and a persistent Captain America for over two years, James was ridiculously bad at keeping secrets from the latter. Natasha received a text from Sharon not five hours after she’d sent him home.

‘Whatever you did to Barnes, keep it up. He’s barely brooding and Steve’s overjoyed.’

‘You just wanted to let me know you know, didn’t you?’ Natasha texted back.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Natasha grinned, she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself today. It was a good feeling.

 

* * *

 

James rang the doorbell at the stroke of six. Natasha didn’t run to answer it, but only because she had more control over the rest of her body than she had over her stupid grin. She suppressed the smile before she opened the door, but that effort was ruined when she saw him. He looked amazing. There was no other way to describe him. His still damp hair brushed back and his eyes glinted like ice on a clear winter’s day. And the suit, oh, the suit. A gray so dark it was almost black and as well tailored as the one that no doubt still had bullet holes in it.

To him, she apparently looked just as good. “Wow, Natalia, you look…” he said as a greeting.

She spun, letting the red lace of her dress billow out. “Try not to get any blood on this one, will you?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and pulled a bouquet from behind his back. It was roses, dark red and velvety, at least two dozen of them. The sap.

“You shouldn’t have.” She took them and breathed in deeply. “They are lovely, though. Thank you.”

“My mom’d’ve spun in her grave if I hadn’t.”

He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him and he took full advantage of it, lowering his head to capture her bottom lip between his. It was a soft kiss, as soft as his freshly shaved face, as soft as his hand cupping the back of her head. Natasha wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping the roses from brushing against him, and pulled him closer. When she opened her mouth, and brushed her tongue against his lips, he parted them. He tasted as clean and fresh as he smelled and she could easily stand here all day, kissing him as her heart beat faster by the second.

But then they’d both have dressed up for nothing. And James’ mother would definitely spin in her grave because of it.

Natasha broke the kiss reluctantly, grinning up at him when he opened his eyes. He looked so disappointed she gave him another kiss, just a peck, before she let go of him.

A distraction was needed and she waved the flowers at him. “You really shouldn’t have. I’m not sure I have a vase.”

“How can you not be sure if you have a vase?”

She slipped out of his arms and escaped into the kitchen. “It’s a new apartment and I didn’t furnish it. Could you check the wall cabinets?”

“You’ve been living here for months. How don’t you know the contents of your kitchen?” James said, but began searching the cabinets anyway.

“Oh, honey, it’s like you don’t know me at all,” she said and grinned at him.

He found a vase, eventually, in the cupboard on the far right. Tall, square, and with no decorations whatsoever. Natasha made a mental note to thank the decorator for being so spot-on.

With the flowers arranged and displayed on the dinner table, there was nothing left for them to do but to leave.  She slipped on a pair of ankle boots, grabbed her jacket and purse off the table, and let him outside.

 

For once, they had an uneventful ride and neither of them ended up half drained of blood or fully drained of energy.

 

James didn’t as much hesitate as he lingered after he got out of the car outside his safe house in the woods. Kept a hand on the door for a few seconds longer than he had to. He didn’t scan the area, but only because she was right next to him and would have seen him doing it.

She put her hand on his shoulder and stretched to kiss him on the cheek. “Why don’t you check the perimeter while I get everything set up inside?”

Without the hand, Natasha wouldn’t have noticed the slight drop of his shoulders.

His relieved smile, however, was impossible to miss. “Don’t you dare start on the food before I’m back,” he said and pressed his keys into her hands.

“Моя любовь, when have you ever known me to cook when I could avoid it?”

Small lines formed in the skin around his eyes as the smile widened and it took all her willpower to only wink and turn away from him to pick up the grocery bags. He was gone by the time she turned back.

Even in a fitted suit and leather shoes in the middle of a forest, James was silent as a ghost. And he looked just as impeccable when he returned to cook their dinner. The ditched jacket and rolled up sleeves did not detract from his good looks in any way.

She picked music for them, something light and jazzy on a radio station with no annoying DJ. Was even graciously allowed to set the table, but otherwise told in no uncertain terms not to interfere with his cooking. Not that she minded. Natasha could cook if she followed a recipe, some of it even turned out edible if she managed to follow it all the way through. But for her, cooking was something that happened to other people.

Lucky for her that James enjoyed it as much as he did. Lucky for him, it relaxed him as much as it did.

Sitting still outside missions had never been her strong suit, but relaxed James could talk in a way wound-up, ever vigilant Barnes couldn’t, and her Soldier seldom had. They talked about everything and nothing. About their shared frustration with Steve’s tendency to throw himself out of planes, about the uses of the tiny flash-bang Tony had invented based on his repulsor technology, and about if cookie dough was something you ate or baked. (Despite his vehement protests, it was obviously both.)

With the Chicken Piccata simmering in the pan and the veggies roasting in the oven, Natasha decided it was time to get him out of the kitchen.

“So, are you giving me the grand tour, or...?” she asked, encompassing the entire one-bedroom cabin in one sweeping gesture.

James raised an eyebrow at her, and said, “Kitchen, dining table, sofa, and bookcase,” indicating each in turn. Including their respective positions, the open kitchen he was standing in and the four-person dinner table she was seated at. “Riveting, huh? Thought you would’ve had a look while I was outside.”

She shrugged, unable to put into words the need to let him have his privacy despite her near fatal case of curiosity.

He caught some of it. Pausing, then said, “I’ve got a walk-in closet you might find interesting.”

“You know, there are easier ways to get me into your bed. You don’t have to tempt me with weapons.”

“And risk dinner burning? Not gonna happen.” He slung the dishtowel over his shoulder and led her with a hand resting against the small of her back.

The closet was indeed very interesting. And not just because Natasha dearly wanted to study the several well-hidden boobytraps and locks that secured it. It was filled with weapons: more firearms than she could count, blunt-force weapons, edged ones, explosive and incendiary devices. Even a few she didn’t have the body mass or upper-body strength to handle.

“Well, when World War 3 breaks out, I know where I’m going,” she said with a wide grin.

“Don’t bother. I’ve got another place with a bigger stash and it’s underground. More secure.”

A buzzer sounded in the kitchen before she would weigh her need to see that against her need to respect his privacy. She was generously allowed to turn the heat off the Chicken Piccata while James reset the boobytraps and locked the closet again.

 

* * *

 

The dinner tasted as wonderful as it smelled and Natasha was relieved to find that James had only prepared the batter for the promised blinis they were having for dessert. That meant she had a few precious minutes to digest the main course before she was expected to stuff her face again.

Well-prepared food and the often contagious appetite of Super Soldiers were a dangerous combination.

“There’s sour cream and jam, but I didn’t steal Sharon’s Nutella for it not to be eaten,” James declared as he served the blinis, and dolloped an entire tablespoon of the stuff on one single blini.

“You want some blini with that Nutella?”

“Nope,” said James and wolfed it down, impressively not choking on the sticky, sugary goo.

Natasha shrugged, put some on one of her own, and moaned when she realized it wasn’t the oily American stuff.

“Why do you think I went to Sharon? She’s got a contact in Germany.”

“And she was okay with that?”

“No, but I made Steve give up one of his.”

The two of them appreciated Steve’s sacrifice by making sure that none of the Nutella went to waste.

After all the blinis had been consumed and he got up to exchange the empty wine bottle for a full one, she followed him, taking their dirty dishes with her. She barely got to turn on the water before he interrupted her, the smirk thick in his voice.

“As domestic and cute that is, I do have a dishwasher, ya know.”

She turned and swept her gaze around the cabin. “So, no tv or any other kind of screen, and a radio almost as old as you, but you have a dishwasher?”

“One of those makes my life easier, the others don’t,” he said and began loading the machine in question.

“You should write a self-help book. Rebrand yourself and share that century-old wisdom of yours.” Her voice was dry, with no evidence of the fond smile on her face.

James closed the dishwasher and started it before turning to her. “What, like, ‘how to pick a gun for every occasion’ and ‘remember to clean and oil your metal arm, it’ll smell funky if you don’t’?”

She slipped her arms around his waist as he pushed her up against the counter. “A bit specific, but why not?”

His hair brushed against her forehead as he leaned down to her and she tilted her head back in anticipation of a kiss that didn’t land where she’d expected it to. Instead of meeting her parted lips, he kissed and nipped his way along the line of her jaw from chin to ear, chuckling when she shivered.

“’How to Survive Kissing Former Soviet Assassins,’” Natasha added and guided his mouth down to hers, kissing him deeply, weaving her fingers through his hair as she tasted him and the faint residue of Nutella. He still knew how to kiss her, how to take her breath away. His tongue slick against hers, his rhythm in perfect sync with hers.

He pulled back after an all too short while, red-lipped and glass-eyed, and looked at her. “Is that one about you or me?”

“You. Both. Either.” She shrugged and tugged a lock of hair behind his ear.

The music had stopped and Natasha would gleefully have ignored the late-night host, if not for one important thing.

“Hold that thought,” she said and put a finger on his mouth, pushing him back. James reluctantly let go of her, and she went over to the radio, turning it off before she dug out her phone. Since the cabin was devoid of any sort of decent speakers, the phone would have to do on its own. Natasha found the playlist, hit play, and said, “I heard this the other day, I think you’ll like it.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, the shadow of a frown on his brow, as he listened.

After a little while, she asked, “Well?”

“You’re right, I like it,” he said, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“No. Aren’t you going to ask a girl to dance?”

Credit where credit was due. James didn’t comment on her obvious attempt to help him go through every stage of the dating protocol for the hopelessly romantic. Instead, he presented his hand to her with a flourish and lead her to the living room when she took it.

The beat of the song was slow, perfect for swaying hips, close embraces, and Super Soldiers who hadn’t danced in decades. It didn’t matter, he could follow her lead well enough and she could follow the rhythm of every song ever composed. By the end of the song, he’d regained enough confidence to dip her low with nothing but a hand at the small of her back.

Who needed a fancy restaurant and live band when they had this? Not her, not ever.

Somewhere around the third song, his hands found her ass, and there wasn’t any other option for her but to wrap her legs around his hips and kiss him like her life depended on it. By the end of it, her head was spinning and she was only vaguely aware of the changing scenery. Caught between his mouth, hard and hungry on hers, and the peculiar sensation of a pair of mismatched arms encircling her.

The bed was a nice addition, though, she had to give him that. Natasha unfurled her legs when she noticed it and dropped soundlessly to the floor, not sparing the layout of the bedroom a second glance before she started unbuttoning his shirt. His hands ghosted over her hair and face as she worked, but only until she was done. The second the shirt dropped to the floor he captured her hands in his and kissed each palm before turning his attention to her twin bracelets.

“’How to Disarm Former Soviet Assassins,’” said James and unclasped her stingers.

“Definitely both,” she replied and took the Sig Sauer from the holster at the small of his back.

The only time they slowed was when James had to kneel to disentangle her panties from her thigh-holster and he stopped, staring at her stomach.

She hadn’t thought the scars would matter to him; he’d given her scars before, as she had him – several during sparring and one when she’d shown him that trick with her tongue and he’d slipped in the shower, banging his head against the tiles.

“No guilt tripping,” she said softly, tilting his head up to look at her. “You’re not allowed to blame yourself for Odessa unless you think I should feel bad about almost killing you on the bridge in DC.”

“If anything, you should feel bad you were such a lousy shot,” he said with a rueful, if forced, smile.

Natasha stroked her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “If only I could recall who taught me sharp-shooting.”

“I hope the hack has paid for it.” He slipped the entangled holster and panties down her legs and straightened.

“It’s okay, he has other uses. If he hasn’t grown rusty over the years.”

The last bit of hesitation evaporated and James raised an eyebrow at her. Pushing her back onto the bed and crawling on top of her. “I’ll show you rusty,” he said and stopped her giggling with his lips on her nipple.

His demanding mouth sent hot flashes through her, the stimulation almost too much, too demanding, and she arched into it, about to push him away when he switched to her other breast, starting the cycle all over again.

“Rusty, my ass,” he grumbled again and she meant to laugh, but what escaped her lips was more like a drawn-out sigh.

It had been far too long since her body had been subject to attention like this. From other people or from herself. It had seemed wrong to be with anyone else with him around, even if he had acted like he wanted nothing to do with her. So now she drank it up, pressing back against his touches, digging her fingers into his back, and eagerly kissing him when he finally let her.

Trapped between the furnace masquerading as his chest and the bed left Natasha with little wiggle room. She wrapped her legs around James’ hips again and flipped them, straddling his lap as she settled on top of him. This was more like it. Now free to use her hands on him however she pleased, she ran her fingers down his chest, over taut stomach muscles, to where his cock rested, hot and heavy.

The sound he made when she wrapped her fingers around him was low and breathless and it fed the fire between her own legs.

What a difference a day made. Two days ago, he’d been closed off at best and stand-offish at worst. Now here he was, looking up at her like she was the 8th wonder of the world. Whatever she’d done to deserve this, she was willing to go through it all again. Blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back.

Rudely interrupting her reverie, James slipped a hand from her hip and dipped his thumb between her folds. It was unfair and a cheap trick. How was she to enjoy tormenting him if he kept distracting her? Well, there was an obvious answer to that: Up the ante. With a hand guiding him, she lifted herself up to sink down onto him.

With as ready as she was for him, she still had to pause as her body adjusted to his size. James, of course, had no mercy. He continued his ministrations of her overly sensitive clit, timing his strokes with the rolling of her hips when she finally did move again.

“’How to Burn Off Excess Energy and Post-Mission Jitters,’” Natasha said, only just managing to string the words together.

He didn’t dignify it with an answer. Instead he wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her down into a kiss. And that was all it took. The tension that had been building inside her all day finally released. She shuddered as the orgasm ripped through her, letting him swallow her moans and swallowing his in turn as his hips snapped up a few final times before he tumbled over the edge with her.

She draped herself over his equally relaxed form, boneless and, for the moment, sated. He didn’t soften inside her, though, and after a few minutes she clenched around him experimentally. The reaction was twofold: A low sound from the back of James’ throat and an answering twitch deep inside. She sat up, flexing her hips as she straightened. His eyes remained closed, but his hands found their place on her hips easily enough.

“’How to Deal with  Super Soldier Stamina,’” she said with a smirk.

He huffed. “Try ‘How to Survive Insatiable Russian Seductresses’ instead.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” he said and kissed with soft lips and an expression that promised many more of those in the future.


End file.
